Little Hidden One
by Bedlam87
Summary: It is well known that there is nothing so cherished in the dwarven race as their children. However, as in all races there are exceptions.
1. New Arrival in the Shire

Bilbo Baggins walked slowly next to the cart that carried her mother, Belladona, down the road from Bree, every so often glancing at the flowers that grew sporadically on the side of the road. She took after her mother in looks, especially with the long curly brown hair that she usually wore in braided bun to keep it out of the way. Though she was never without a multitude of rebellious strands that fought to tickle her cheeks no matter how many pins she tried to tame them with.

"Bilbo," her father, Bungo, called quietly to get her attention and Bilbo turned to look at him with the pale, green-gray eyes that he often compared to his own mother's, never mind his own.

"You should pick some for your mother," her father told her quietly from the box of the carriage, "They might make her feel better." Bilbo grinned at the idea and race off, acting more like a fauntling than a hobbit merely two years from her majority. The small family had traveled to Bree to get various metal tools fixed by the blacksmith, as Hobbiton's had died when Bilbo was around ten and no one else had shown an interest in the trade. Unfortunately the trip had proven to be too much for Belladona, who had just recently overcome a rather nasty illness that had kept the normally active hobbit confined to her room. She gathered a small bunch of the small white flowers from the edge of the road before venturing towards the tree line.

"Don't go too far Bilbo," Bungo called.

"I'll walk along side," Bilbo said with a wave and wandered just behind the first group of trees where flowers grew more prominently, away from the dangers of the crushing wheels of passing carts. She was so distracted by finding the most beautiful flowers for her mother that she almost missed the crashing of footsteps coming from deeper in the forest, the ones that seemed to be heading right for her. Seconds before she could cry out for her father, a young dwarf stumbled into the small clearing she'd found for herself. At least Bilbo thought it was a dwarf, she was relying mostly on the knowledge she'd pulled from books to help her identify the creature that was staring at her with a dumbfounded expression. From what Bilbo could tell, which wasn't much, he looked to be the dwarven equivalent of her own age and Bilbo wasn't sure which of them was more surprised at the sudden appearance of the other, but from the way the dwarf was fearfully clutching the small bundle of cloth to his chest, Bilbo assumed he was. He had copper hair that had been artfully braided away from his face until there were three plaits leading from the edge of his face that gathered into one long seven strand braid and just the beginnings of a beard coming in.

A sudden cry from within the bundle startled both of them and the dwarf actually jumped back a few feet, before he scrambled forward again.

"You're a hobbit," he stated distracting Bilbo from her curiosity toward the contents of the bundle, and though Bilbo knew she should probably be much more afraid than she was, she nodded and curtsied.

"Bilbo Baggins," she told him politely, proud that her voice barely waivered, "at your service."

"I've been told your people would never turn away one in need. Is that true?" He looked so desperate that Bilbo couldn't answer for a moment, and wasn't even put off by him refusing to give her his name in return, collecting herself only when she saw his hopeful expression start to fall.

"It certainly is for the Baggins family," she told him primly, secretly delighting in the wide beaming smile she got in return before his face became solemn once again.

"I must ask a great deal of you Mistress Baggins," he told her gravely, and though he hadn't drawn the weapon Bilbo felt her heart speed up at the very real possibility of danger. However, the young dwarf didn't draw his weapon like she expected and instead peeled away the top layer of the bundle. Bilbo gasped and cooed when a tiny infant dwarf with ginger hair was revealed, "I need a safe place to hide him." Bilbo looked up in confusion, unsure as to what could possibly be a danger to such a small and unthreatening thing.

"Whatever for?" She asked him and the dwarf sighed, suddenly looking much older than Bilbo suspected his age to be.

"My Uncle is the eldest son of his line," he told her, "and as such is entitled to inherit a title and sizable fortune after his father's death. My father is the younger son and will receive a mere pittance, which he was content with at first as my uncle had no children placing my father second in succession. I firmly believe now that my father has always planned to orchestrate an accident for his brother, but a few years ago my uncle married and only a few months ago my aunt and uncle were blessed with this little one." He looked down at the baby with such adoration and love that Bilbo might have thought they were at least brothers at the least had she not heard the truth already, but instead she felt her stomach turn at the implication his words had.

"Something happened to his parents, didn't it," she asked hesitantly. She wasn't positive that the child was a boy, but she refused to call a baby it, even in her mind. The dwarf nodded grimly and opened his mouth to continue his tale, only to snap his jaws shut and lower himself into a protective crouch at Bungo's concerned call.

"Bilbo!"

"It's alright," she hurried to assure the dwarf, who only relaxed moderately, "It's only my father. I swear he wouldn't do anything to harm either of you." At the dwarf's hesitant nod, she answered her near panicking father.

"Over here papa," she called, waiting for the moment Bungo would break through the thin underbrush. When he did, he immediately stiffened upon seeing the unknown, and armed, dwarf so close to his daughter. Bilbo could see Bungo's eyes darting around for the nearest escape route he could drag her too and hurried to assure him, "He needs our help." Bungo moved closer, hesitantly, and calmed a little when his eyes lit upon the now squirming infant in the dwarf's arms. At the gentlehobbit's encouraging nod , the dwarf resumed his tale.

"I failed to save my aunt and uncle," he told her, pain evident in his eyes, "my father made it appear as if our party was set upon by Orcs, but told me to take him away since an Orc would never pass on a feast of newborn flesh. There's no way to conceal him for the final leg of our journey, and even if there was, my father would only find some way to murder him in his cradle. " The bitterness and hate in his voice made the two hobbits wince, and sympathy to grow in their hearts. Without thinking to confer with her father, Bilbo stepped forward and held out her arms for the tearing dwarf. He just stared at her for a moment, looking very much like a lost little boy, before his crumpled into her arms and wept. Bilbo shushed him as best she could and glanced at her father, who headed back to the cart with a decisive nod.

"If he needs a safe home," he whispered to the sobbing dwarf, "he's found it with us." The dwarf pulled away to look at her with shining eyes and quickly dropped his eyes, humbled by the pure kindness he saw there. Bungo appeared a moment later carrying a fresh blanket.

"We certainly have the room," he told the dwarf, "and your mother's already in a tizzy about having her first grandbaby." Bilbo giggled at the idea of her mother in a tizzy, but her father's words certainly had an impact on the dwarf. His breath audibly caught and he placed a lingering kiss on the child's forehead before he reluctantly placed him in Bilbo's waiting arms. The boy, a fact that was made abundantly clear when he decided that releasing his bladder was a good way to greet his new mother, looked up at Bilbo with large, lovely brown eyes and smiled. Bilbo was instantly smitten with her new son and only vaguely heard what the dwarf was telling her father.

"I saved this," he said, handing Bungo a large silver pendant and chain, "It belonged to his mother, so he can find the rest of his family should he ever choose."

"We'll make sure he knows where he came from," Bungo swore as he tucked the exquisite piece of jewelry safely into his pocket.

"What's his name?" Bilbo whispered without taking her eyes away from the child in her arms, smiling softly when he reached for the flyaway curls surrounding her face. The dwarf smiled at the sight.

"Ori," he told her, "Son of Ri."


	2. A Red Sun Rises

Thorn Oakenshield, former heir to the greatest dwarf kingdom on Middle Earth and now King of the Blue Mountain Empire watched as the Rí brothers waited at the gate for the caravan that was already three days late.

"They've been there for at least an hour every dawn and dusk for the last two days," Frerin told him as he came to stand beside the king on the balcony.

"Wouldn't you if it were Dis?" Thorin asked, "Or Father? Mother?" Frerin ignored the question and simply continued to stare at the fretting brothers below.

"Dis said something went wrong with the caravan," he told the king after a few moments of silence, "You know she's never wrong."

"Let us hope this time she is," Thorin replied, though he didn't believe it himself. He knew better than to dismiss their sister's vague premonitions, as it had been one of his mother's that had protected the children of Erebor when the dragon came. The Crown Princess had felt that something was coming and had begged Thrór and her husband, Thrain, to prepare, but they waved her off in favor of the gold that had gathered in the treasury over centuries. Determined not to be ignored, and save as many as she could, she gathered as many of the dwarrowdams and dwarflings as she could and told them to be prepared to evacuate to the forest on the moment she gave the signal. The power of foresight had long belonged to the Istari and the elves, but the people of Erebor had heard tale of the powers that flowed through the women of Fris' line and did as she asked.

The morning the dragon laid waste to Erebor, Fris felt a harsh band a fear twist around her heart and she signaled the dwarrowdams. Erebor had never seen a march like the one Fris led out of the mountain that day, and once she'd gotten her people to safety she went back for her family. Thorin had been on the battlements with Balin when the dragon descended upon the mountain, incinerating the warriors who stood by the pair and were not fast enough to get out of the way of the searing flames, so he did not see his mother fall as she protected her youngest children. It wasn't until he was dragging his grandfather away from the infested treasury that he came across his mother's crumpled body, crushed beneath debris. He hadn't realized he'd fallen to his knees until he felt his father drag him out of the way of a large chunk of falling stone and propelling him out of the crushed gates.

Thorin forcefully pulled himself out of memories that threatened to consume him and turned to look at Frerin. His little brother was staring off into the distance beyond the gate and only looked back up when Thorin bumped their shoulders together.

"You are troubled," Thorin observed, "By something other than concern for the caravan." Frerin had opened his mouth to snip out a smart reply, but snapped his mouth shut at his brother's specification, his face falling back to its contemplative focus.

"Dis waited for you the same when you left for Moria," Frerin told him as he turned his attention back to the aching family at the gate. Thorin sighed as he was once again drawn into memories he would much rather put behind him, hoping his brother would not continue any further.

"Why wasn't I at Azanulbizar?" Frerin asked him quietly, shocking Thorin with the question. He'd expected some questions about the battle it's self, but not Frerin's role. Frerin had never appeared to be anything other than relieved when their father had told him to lead the people while the rest of them marched off to face down the Orcs of Moria. To have him question the decision for the first time nearly twenty years later was shocking, "I know I was still two years from majority, but grandfather wanted me to go, until you convinced him otherwise. Dis told you to make me stay behind, didn't she?"

Thorin sighed again and clutched almost desperately at the stone railing in front of him as memories assaulted his mind once again. The Battle of Azanulbizar had been an unmitigated disaster, leading to the deaths of hundreds of dwarven deaths including King Thror and possibly their father Thrain. Thorin had been thrust from the battle field to the throne on the same day, still coated in the blood of allies and enemies alike, all when he had barely passed his coming of age.

"You have never asked this before now," Throin said with a slight frown, "in nearly twenty years. Why now?"

"If you tell me it was Dis," Frerin told him, "maybe I won't wonder if you just didn't think I was good enough." Thorin immediately embraced his brother, the physical gesture something he only did with his closest family. When he pulled back he made sure he could look his brother dead in the eye.

"You would have fought bravely," Thorin told him firmly, "and you would have fallen the same, but you would have fallen." The unspoken confirmation of his suspicions made the younger prince sag in relief. Thorin silently wondered how long Frerin had held onto that warped view of event and vowed to pay closer attention to his brother's state of mind, "Go play with our nephews." Frerin smiled at the suggestion of playing with their sister's young sons, but any response was drowned out by shouting at the gates. King and Prince turned their attention to the commotion in time to see the Ri brothers rush the single cart that enter the lowest level of the city. Dwalin, Son of Fundin, head of Erid Luin's City Guard and Thorin's closest friend, lifted his head to meet the King's gaze and sadly shook his head. The head guard's pronouncement was strengthened by a wretched cry ripped from the oldest Rí brother as he peeled back the blanket covering the bodies of his mother and her husband.

When Thorin reached the courtyard, the Rí brothers were clutching each other as they wept and Thorin instructed a following servant to see them to a private room for them to grieve. The servant, unfortunately all too familiar with the grieving family, kindly herded the brokenhearted pair away from the group of men who were going to have to move their mother's body while Frerin offered the condolences of the royal family. Dwalin waited for the king to arrive before moving towards the cart.

"What happened?" Thorin asked as he crouched down to draw the covers back once again to expose the bodies for examination. Lady Rí and her husband both had their throats slit so deeply that it looked more akin to a decapitation and Dwalin swore when the mutilation so often attributed to Orc kills was revealed. Even Thorin, a seasoned warrior, was forced to turn away from the stomach churning sight.

"Orcs," Dwalin spat unnecessarily, his hands grasping his axes Ukhalt and Umraz with nearly white knuckles. Thorin snarled at the idea of any of his race coming in contact with something as vile as orcs, especially one as rare as a dwarrowdam. While Thorin's mother had saved the majority of the dwarrowdams that had inhabited Erebor, they were still only born one in three and were to be treasured second only to the children they brought into the world. Taking a care to honor the dead, he replaced the sheet with the proper amount of respect and gravitas and stood to see two travel dusted dwarves dismounting from their ponies.

"They traveled with the caravan?" He asked earning a harsh nod from Dwalin, "And yet they remain unharmed."

"Fíur, his brother lies beside Lady Rí as her husband," Dwalin told him, "and his son Kír. Fíur claims they were scouting ahead while the others broke camp, and returned to find everyone slaughtered." Frerin snorted in disbelief as he watched the dwarf in question brush his clothes off without even a glance towards the cart that carried his late brother on his final journey to Ered Luin. Kír, however, seemed unable to tear his eyes away from the cart and the bodies that were laid beside it.

"The babe!" Dori's near scream had every dwarrow in the area spinning around to looked for the nearest threat. The distraught son made it within a few feet of the king before a few guards managed to stop him, but Thorin waved them away.

"What babe?" he asked, his first instinct to protect any child that could be in danger. Dori took a few deep breaths and clutched the man he called king.

"Mother was carrying her third child when she wrote to us," Dori told him and Dwalin immediately began to search the cart for any sign of a newborn dwarfling, "The child would have been born a few months ago."

"Thorin," Dwalin hollared, holding up knitted baby blanket, "The child was with them."

"Ori." The whisper was just loud enough for the small group to hear and they looked over at the young dwarf with copper hair that had been artfully braided away from his face until there were three plaits leading from the edges of his face that gathered into one long seven strand braid, "She named him Ori and he-."

"He's dead," Fíer interrupted his son as he walked over to to stand in front of the king, barely sparing a glance at the dwarf who's world he was crushing for the second time that day, "Orcs would never pass up the promise of a meal made from newborn flesh." With a weak cry, Ori's oldest brother collapsed to the floor to weep for the infant brother he would never know. Thorin glared at Fíer, who he was now convinced had something to do with the death of his own kin, and laid what he hoped was a comforting hand on Dori's shoulder, only relinquishing his hold when the same servant as before ushered the dwarrow back to his brother.

"A little more compassion would not have been amiss in delivering such news," Thorin nearly growled at the soon to be dwarf lord. The high born dwarf waved an uncaring hand in the direction of the retreating brothers.

"My apologies if the news disturbed you Your Majesty," Fíer replied with a bow aimed at currying favor with those with a station higher than his own, though it had little effect on Thorin, "but-."

"If news of a murdered dwarfling does'na affect ye," Dwalin snarled, "Yer heart's harder than any stone Mahal's made."

"Low born dwarves are bred for dying," Fíer sneered without looking at what he considered to be an inferior member of his race, unknowingly nearly meeting Dwalin's axes personally. A sharp look from Thorin halted him, but Dwalin kept the axes in hand as he muttered darkly.

"Lower born they may be, but they are my kin," Thorin told the other noble blooded dwarf harshly and watched as his face paled at the information, "and I will have them treated as such." The dwarf stumbled over his words as he scrambled to cover his misstep, but Thorin was in no mood to listen to him babble and signaled for another servant to find them lodgings for the night. Frerin approached his older brother as the Father and son followed the white bearded dwarf assigned to their care, a dark look covering his normally cheery features.

"What did you glean from them?" Thorin asked. His brother was well versed in seeing what others could not when it came to unspoken clues given off by the body and it had often come in handy during interrogations, especially when people were unaware of his abilities.

"Fíer is hiding something," Frerin told him bluntly, "He appeared more a detached messenger than bereaved brother, and when his son spoke the babe's name, he tensed. He bares watching." Thorin nodded, though he kept his gaze glued to the retreating forms of the suspect dwarrows.

"And Kír?" Frerin frowned at his brothers question and ran his hands through his hair, careful to avoid catching the braids that littered his hair.

"He's certainly hiding something, but I do not believe it sinister," Frerin told him, "There was a small wince whenever someone mentioned the babe and he kept looking down at his arms as if he expected something to be there. He will break before his father ever will. If this attack was a kin killing, than I do not believe the boy to be a willing participant."

"It would have been about gold," Thorin nearly whispered, "Dwarves of Fíer's ilk feel nothing for anything that is not cold and glittering. The child is surely as dead as his parents, disposed of in way that would bring credibility to the tale of an orc attack."

"They'll be watched," Dwalin growled "I can promise ye that."


	3. Baking Memories

Bilbo diligently tended the gardens of her parent's graves, while keeping a close eye on her six year old dwarven son who was playing silently a few feet away from her.

"Take care Ori," Bella called when it looked like the small boy was considering toddling further away from her than normal, "He's grown so much." For obvious reasons Bilbo didn't actually expect an answer from her parents, but that didn't stop her from talking to them anyway. Properly chastised, Ori toddled over to his mother and plopped down into her lap, blinking sleepily.

"Hi Gama. Hi Gampa," Ori said with a drowsy wave in the direction of the flower covered mounds. He didn't remember much about the hobbit he called grandma as she had passed away before he was old enough to form true lasting memories, and Bilbo knew the few memories he had of his grandfather would quickly fade away. Belladona had never truly recovered from the sicknesses she'd gotten after miscarrying her second child roughly a year before Bilbo came of age, and passed away shortly after her grandson's fourth birthday. Bungo had been crushed by the death of his wife, but he held on to life stubbornly for his daughter and new grandson where most hobbits would begin to fade. He and Bilbo had opened a small bakery and sweet shop using some of Belladona's secret recipes to keep the memory of her close. The familiar smells that filled the bakery on a daily basis had done wonders for Bungo's melancholy, but the Fell winter caught all of Hobbiton unawares and Bungo had died protecting an adventurous fauntling from hungry wolves. Half a year later, and Bilbo still woke up every morning expecting to find her father cooking away in the kitchen with a hungry Ori kicking happily in the highchair Bungo had made for him.

"The sweet shop is doing well," she told her father, "It keeps me busy and I love it, but it's not the same without you." Bilbo looked down when Ori tugged on her sleeve.

"Hungry Mama," Ori told her, still holding tightly to his favorite blanket, and snuggled back into her hold. Bilbo sighed, knowing they had already stayed longer than usual and she needed to feed her boy.

"Alright my little love," Bilbo told him, placing a small kiss on his fuzzy head, "Let's get you some breakfast." She hefted the toddler onto her hip as he cheered and waved his arms excitedly. With a soft chuckle, Bilbo guided his arms around her neck and started down the path towards the market and her shop.

The Baggins Sweet Shop started off relatively small, with hobbits stopping in to buy a quick snack or pick up their orders, but in the year before he died, Bingo added a few benches and tables for people to linger. It had helped Bilbo deal with the sudden and nearly overwhelming loneliness at the loss of her final parent, and it slowly became normal for more than a few hobbits to take their tea in her little shop.

Bilbo slid another loaf of fresh bread out of the stone oven with a large wooden paddle and turned around, while keeping a close eye on Ori, to set it on the cooling rack. Bilbo preferred to take her ledgers home at the end of every day, so she had turned the small office into a play room for Ori with a gate in place of the door.

"Good Morning," an unfamiliar male voice said from behind the counter as she was pulling out a tray of raspberry cookies. In her surprise she very nearly dropped the hot tray and quickly set it down to press a hand to her racing heart.

"Goodness," Bilbo breathed out as she turned to look at her unexpected customer, "I really need to replace that bell above the door." Bilbo faltered momentarily when she realized that the customer was an older dwarf and quickly glanced to make sure Ori was hidden well enough. There was a younger dwarf behind him with hair that was curled up into elaborate braids and was beginning to grey. There was a certain sadness about him that spoke of an old, but not forgotten, pain and Bilbo felt a certain kinship with him.

"It would make for a little less excitement, "the first dwarf told her, "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Balin son of Fundin, and this is my husband Dori son of Ri." Both dwarves bowed at the end of Balin's introduction, and missed the sudden whiteness to Bilbo's face. After a quick glance at Ori to make sure he was safely out of sight, Bilbo gathered herself and greeted her new customers.

"Good morning Master Balin, Master Dori," she said with a nod to each dwarf, "How can I serve you today?"

"Well my dear," Balin said, reminding Bilbo very much of her grandfather, "The Thain sent some of your wonderful raspberry and lemon cookies as a gift for our new year and the king's brother is now demanding some for his name day celebration."

"Refused to let anyone but the young princes have more than one," Dori grumbled, which made his husband grin at him. Bilbo blushed at the praise and busied herself with pulling out another batch of dough to knead once the pair had finished their errand.

"We were instructed by the king-" Balin was interrupted by a loud crash and the startled crying of a toddler. Ignoring her initial urge to hide Ori away and raced to save him, only to giggle when she found him unhurt. The toddler had managed to upend a bowl of flour someone had left on the built in desk. A very dusty Ori stood sniveling in the middle of a ring of the white powder and held his arms out almost desperately for his mother. Bilbo laughed and snatched up a nearby hand rag to dust off some of the flour before settling the children onto her hip.

"What did you do?" Bilbo asked with a chuckle as she walked back out into the main room. Ori answered with an incoherent stream of sob babble, complete with wild gestures, that Bilbo didn't even attempt to translate. Instead she just did her best to shush and comfort the boy with the promise of a bath. A male chuckle reminded Bilbo and she very nearly froze again when she realized that she'd brought her in hiding child in front of two members of the race that tried to kill him. Bilbo looks up to see Balin and Dori smiling softly at the small child in her arms, and Bilbo felt some of her tension ease. Ori on the other hand suddenly became incredibly shy and hid his dirty face in Bilbo's neck.

"Is he alright?" Dori asked in concern, only letting his shoulders relax again when Bilbo nodded.

"He knocked over a bowl of flour and startled himself," Bilbo assured them, "That's all." During the conversation, Ori had gained a little bit of his courage back and was peeking at their guests, who waved kindly at him. Bilbo could see the rekindled heartache in Dori's eyes grow and couldn't stop herself from prying, for the sake of her son.

"Do you two have any children Master Dori?" She asked as politely as she could, she knew it was common for Hobbits to take in orphaned fauntlings, even if the family wasn't kin to the child, but had no knowledge as to the dwarvish outlook on the practice. Dori shook his head sadly and Bilbo once again felt for the poor dwarf who must have suffered so much after the passing of his mother and the supposed death of an infant brother.

"No," Dori told her sadly, "We have not had the opportunity. Dwarflings are very precious to us, but also very rare. Every birth is celebrated and every death mourned." Dori deflated even more at the mention of even a hypothetical child's death and Balin put a comforting hand on his husband's arm.

"I am sorry givashel," Balin muttered to him, just loud enough for Bilbo to hear the unfamiliar word and instantly regret her question.

"My apologies," Bilbo quickly said, "I should not have pried." Dori held up a hand to stall any further arguments and visibly composed himself.

"It's alright," he said kindly, "Any time a dwarfling is orphaned, there is a search for any surviving family and only then would an outside family be given the option. We are first on the list, but any family member, no matter how distant, would never turn away a child." Dori had stepped closer to the counter as he spoke, wistful eyes locked on Ori, but it wasn't in a way that made Bilbo at all anxious. It appeared more as someone who desperately wished for a child of their own. Carefully Bilbo set Ori on the counter so Dori could keep Ori entertained while she talked to Balin, but close enough that she could snatch him up if she needed to. Dori looked hesitantly at Bilbo for a moment before he turned his attention to the still somewhat shy child. Bilbo wasn't incredibly worried about the pair recognizing Ori as a dwarf, since he was entirely covered in flour and Ori was still in a phase where he insisted on wearing a large knitted scarf that very nearly covered his chin. Bilbo didn't think she'd ever been so happy that Lobelia had made it for him.

"He's a lovely boy," Balin said when she turned her attention to him, "You and your husband must be very proud." Balin frowned a little when Bilbo shook her head.

"I'm not married," Bilbo told him, but hurried to explain when Balin looked even more confused, "My parents took him in when he lost his parents only a few months after he was born, but my mother was ill and I became his mother by default. Now he's all I have left."

"I am sorry," Balin told her sympathetically, making Bilbo smile softly and nod in response.

"Now," Bilbo said, "How can I help you with a demanding prince." Balin roared with laughter and began to dictate his order to the young hobbit lass.


	4. A King's Burden

"And you're sure the lad is dwarf born?" Thorin asked the couple that had just returned from an errand in the Shire. Thorin had dismissed everyone but his brother and his personal guard, Dwalin, when the couple had asked for a private meeting. Balin shrugged and Dori shifted his weight from side to side.

"Interbreeding between hobbits and dwarrow are not unheard of," Balin admitted, "but with the nose on that boy, I would say he is pure dwarf."

"What makes you think this boy is your brother-in-law?" Thorin asked Balin, still more than slightly worried that Dori had projected his longing for his lost brother onto this young hobbit boy.

"The lad's the right age to be Ori," Balin admitted to the king, "but other than that, nothing."

"He has the hue," Dori put in quietly from his place behind his husband, barely loud enough to be heard.

"What was that Dori," Frerin asked from the smaller throne to Thorin's right, one that would be taken over by the future queen when Thorin found his One. Dori took a few steps forwards, but kept his eyes on the floor in front of him.

"He has the hue," Dori told them, making his brother take in a sharp breath and tumble from his perch, despite the fact that he wasn't supposed to be there. The entire room fell silent as the unspoken meaning of the dwarf's words sunk in. No dwarf family on record had ever had the unique eye coloring that every member of the Ri family had, no matter who married into the family. No matter the color of the non-Ri parent, any child born into the Ri bloodline had an unusual mix of green and lilac standing out starkly against the surrounding white. Nori and Dori were the last known remaining members of the family and they both had what had been dubbed the Ri hue. Thorin turned to his brother after a few minutes of silence, no longer completely convinced that Dori was projecting his loss.

"What do you think?" he asked, prompting a thoughtful moment from the younger dwarf.

"We never did find a body for the dwarfling," Frerin told him, "and while Dori might see his brother in every child of age, Balin said he thought the boy dwarf."

"He is less likely to see ghosts," Thorin agreed with a nod, "We'll send someone down to The Shire to see if they can learn more about the boy."

"I'll go," Dwalin offered from his usual guard position behind Thorin.

"Someone subtle," Thorin clarified without breaking his brother's gaze, and ripping a snort of laughter from his brother, before he returned his attention to the couple waiting patiently in front of him

"Thank you Sire," Dori said honestly as his shoulders sagged in relief.

"However," Thorin said before Dori could say anything else, "He will have already imprinted on the hobbit woman and removing him would do nothing but harm. He would remain her son despite confirmation of his identity." Dori grimaced at the thought, but took a deep breath and nodded.

"Just knowing he's alive will be enough," Dori said resolutely, though Thorin could see the tremble of his lip that was firmly bitten to remain firm.

"We'll deliberate on who to send, and I swear on my life that we will find out if he is of your blood." Dori bowed along with his husband before the pair left the great hall. Thorin slid off the stone throne that was beginning to need another pillow to be remotely comfortable, and led his brother into the large study that was reserved strictly for the King. Frerin closed the door behind him and watched as his brother collapsed into a much more comfortable chair behind the desk with his face cradled in one hand.

"I'll need a list of loyal dwarves we could send to The Shire," Thorin sighed without looking up, "and pray the Nori doesn't decide to kidnap the boy."

"You should go," Frerin told him, ignoring the little quip about Nori, but made a mental note to convince the spymaster's apprentice that it was in his best bet not to disturb the proceedings. Thorin looked up at him with a frown and dropped his hand onto the oak table with a muffled thump.

"Go where?" Frerin rolled his eyes and silently asked Mahal how on earth his brother could be so brilliant and so utterly oblivious at the same time.

"To The Shire," Frerin clarified slowly, "No one there knows you and anyone else you might normally send is known to the Halflings. It would seem strange for them to suddenly take an interest in the boy." Thorin looked contemplative for a few beats of Frerin's heart, but ultimately he dismissed his brother's notions with a quick wave of his hand.

"I'm needed here," Thorin argued weakly, "and-,"

"You're miserable here," Frerin interrupted bluntly, much to the surprise of his brother, "You do not want to be king." The simple truth was quietly spoken, but the impact was felt keenly by both men. Despite the type of dwarf Thorin was, it was a risk to say such a thing to the king. Thorin could easily condemn his brother to death under their laws defining treason and no member of their race would denounce him for it. Thorin, however, merely sagged in his chair as if a great weight had been lifted from him.

"No. I do not," Thorin admitted, allowing his younger brother to see for the first time the strain the older dwarf was under, before he straightened back up to his normal posture, "But it is my duty to our people." Frerin shook his head at his brother's, admittedly inherited, stubbornness and walked forward until he could lean his hands on the desk.

"You have done more for our people than any ruler since Durin himself," Frerin told him, "Since we were forced from Erebor you have willingly run yourself ragged for our people, take this as an opportunity to share the weight of our family's duty. You do not have to do this alone." Thorin sagged again at his brother's words and ran his blunt nails through his close cropped beard.

"I would not wish this weight on anyone," Thorin told him finally, "let alone the ones I hold dear." Frerin collapsed into the chair across from his brother with a sigh when his brother had confirmed one of his many fears. Frerin had known for years that his brother's protective instincts could prove to be mildly detrimental to his health, and there was his proof.

"Dis and I were born to it as much as you," Frerin told him, "As were FIli and Kili, but for the love of Mahal do not hand over the rule to those two miscreants just yet." Thorin finally cracked a smile at the image of his two very young nephews having total power over their small kingdom.

"They'd declare everyday biscuit day and drive everyone mad," Thorin said, which led to another short round of laughter. The laughter died down slowly as the brothers let the unusual mirth wash over them, and Frerin snuck a glance at his still smiling older brother.

"You will do our people no good if you work yourself back to the stone before your time," Frerin told him, making Thorin sigh.

"I would not feel right placing such a burden on you," Thorin told him honestly to which Frerin snorted.

"If you do not Dis may throw you out of the mountain until she deems you properly rested," he told his brother, which made Thorin groan. Dis was a formidable woman, one that neither brother wanted to cross again, and she had been hassling Thorin to take better care of himself for the past few years.

"She's said as much?" Thorin asked without raising his head from the cool wood of his desk.

"There may have been a few unpleasant steps I left out when she expressed her desire," Frerin confirmed with an unrepentant smile. Thorin let out another heavy breath before pushing himself back up.

"I will prepare for my journey as a wandering blacksmith in that case," Thorin said.

"A wise choice brother."


	5. Catching Fate

Bilbo cleared the fallen leaves away from her parent's graves for the first time in a week after a round of the sniffles had banished them to the inside of their home. Bilbo had been terrified when Ori had showed signs of the common hobbit illness because her aunt's dwarf husband had told her that dwarves never got sick.

"He'll be fine," her uncle Gearin assured her as the bulky dwarf examined the unhappy boy, "his cousin may have saved his life, but separating him from the safety of the stone so young made him more vulnerable to disease than the average dwarf." His assurances did little to comfort the frantic first time mother, until Ori's symptoms finally began to lessen. Gearin's family, including his daughter Thistle, and Lobelia Sacksville-Baggins were the only ones in the Shire that know the truth behind Ori's arrival.

Lobelia and Bilbo had never been very close, though there had never any animosity, but it had still been shocking when Lobelia had become one of Ori's most ardent defender against the few hobbits who ardently argued that the dwarfling didn't belong and it all began because of knitting. Lobelia's yarn work was prized throughout the Shire and nearby Bree, so everyone had expected a huge blow up when a barely toddling Ori headed for Lobelia's prized knitting basket. Everyone was shocked when, instead of destroying the carefully wound yarn, Ori simply stroked the soft yarn gently. Lobelia, who was honestly the most surprised of the bunch, quickly made her way over and sat on the floor next to the small boy and began knitting. Ori was fascinated and watched her knit for nearly an hour before Bilbo took him, crying, away for his nap. Every time after that when Bilbo hosted tea at her house, or attended one at Lobelia's, Ori would always sit in Lobelia's lap and watch her knit. He did the same with Bilbo's crocheting, but knitting seemed to be what fascinated him the most. Now, Lobelia liked bright colors like any other proper hobbit, but her true favorite was a deep, rich jewel toned purple made from Blackberries. So when she presented Ori with a large knitted blanket in that color everyone, except Bilbo, waited for a hobbit's natural aversion to dark colors. A reaction that never came. Ori immediately wrapped himself in it until only his nose was visible and had refused to leave it behind since that day and a deep kinship was born. So Lobelia was told about the secret, and promptly had to be held back from storming to the mountain to slaughter any threat to her beloved little cousin.

"Stay close Ori," Bilbo called again when Ori started to wander among the small flowered hills that served as tombs for hobbits that had lived to a ripe old age, or fallen victim to illness while still in their prime. There was a fence surrounding the large field and there was little danger in the Shire, so Bilbo was content to allow her young son to explore as much as he was able.

"You would have laughed at me Papa," Bilbo sighed to her father, "I was frantic at the first sneeze." Bilbo was sure she could hear the familiar deep chuckle of her father and her mother scolding him for his snickering.

"'Unny!" Ori's excited yell brought a smile to his mother's face, and let her know that her son had found a rabbit. With a mildly sad sigh, Bilbo turned her attention back to tending the graves of her parents.

"I miss you both," Bilbo told them, ignoring the tears that were dripping onto the emerald green grass and blue heather that had grown to cover the graves. Just as she was standing to gather Ori and make their way to open the shop a frightened child's shriek filled the air.

"Ori!" Bilbo screamed as she took off in the direction of the sound.

Thorin walked down the dirt road that cut through The Shire feeling more relaxed then he had in decades. Dwarves were supposed to feel most at home when surrounded by rough stone and precious stones and metals, but Thorin felt a hole in his heart that he hadn't known he had being filled by the rolling green hills. The fact that Thorin and Frerin both felt no pull to the stone like dwarves were supposed to and, while they loved their mountain, they craved the fresh air of open land. Their little sister had speculated that it was because their One's were not dwarves. Dis had not known the impact her words had had on her brothers, who spent many nights speculating on what the ramifications could be. While there was no written or unwritten law in dwarven culture that forbid intermarriage there could be objections if member of the royal family married a non-dwarf, especially if it placed a child of that union earlier than a dwarf child in the line of succession.

His peace was shattered when he heard wood cracking and he looked up in time to see a small boy climbing on the fence surrounding a small cliff like drop-off on the side of the road, his eyes seemingly glued to a large orange butterfly. It was only a few inched taller than Thorin and wouldn't do much damage to an adult, but the boy was definitely in danger if that fence didn't hold. To his horror the wood bent and before he could warn the boy to get off, it snapped, sending the young child tumbling to the hard ground below. Thorin reacted with a warrior's grace and caught the tiny body before it could hit the ground. Small hands immediately wound into Thorin's cloak and the boy continued to keep his eyes screwed tightly shut, though his frightened screams had quieted to whimpers.

"You're alright little one," Thorin whispered to the boy as he lifted him higher so the child could rest his head on the large dwarf's shoulder, "You're all right." Thorin had to fight back a laugh as the large, soft scarf that was wrapped around the boy's neck tickled his own.

"Ori!" A woman's frantic call made Thorin back up to the opposite side of the road so he'd be more easily seen.

"Here," He called out, assuming the woman was the boy's mother and therefore frantic at the sound of her son's frightened cries. Thorin felt his breath catch when the woman came into view with the sun at her back casting a glow around her frame. Her dark brown hair was twisted up into a large knot disguising the length, but the strands that had escaped showed that it would most likely cascade down her back in a waterfall of curls were it unbound. Her face was shadowed, making it impossible to see any detail, but Thorin felt an unusual pull towards the woman that made him uneasy. She paused in the gap left by the broken wood and glanced down at the road, obviously figuring that it wouldn't be safe for her to get down that way.

"Just a moment," she said, pointing to a spot a little further down the road where Thorin assumed there was a safe exit. Deciding the polite thing to do was walk a little further down the road so the concerned mother could be reunited with her son as soon as possible. The child clutched more tightly to him as Thorin started walking and whimpered again, though he didn't lift his head away from the dwarf king's shoulder.

"It's alright little one," Thorin assured the boy, rubbing small circles on his back as he walked, "Your mama will be here soon."

"Mama," the boy sobbed, though it was muffed against the fur of Thorin's cloak. Thorin had made it less than five feet before he could see the woman sprinting towards him with her green skirts billowing out behind her.

"Did he fall?" she called when she was close enough to be heard, "Is he hurt?"

"The fence gave when he climbed onto it, possibly chasing a butterfly," Thorin told her as he waited for her to get close enough to take over comforting her child, "I managed to catch him, so I don't believe he is injured."

The young hobbit woman finally reached them, allowing Thorin to see her face clearly for the first time. Her skin was fair despite the bright sun and the usual proclivity for hobbits to be in the sun, with a dusting of healthy pink on her cheeks. Thorin nearly blushed himself when he realized he was staring at her plump lips for far too long, so he busied himself with anything he could find so she wouldn't notice. A jolt ran through the dwarf king when he looked into woman's stunning blue-green eyes for the first time, and dumbly handed the child over when she reached for him. Ori immediately transferred his attachment at the sound of his mother's voice whispering to him and began sobbing anew.

Thorin waited for the hobbit to finish checking her child over for injuries after the short fall he'd taken into Thorin's arms and fought back the urge to pull her into his arms as an unnatural warmth spread throughout his body. It wasn't long before she was satisfied he remained uninjured and she graced him with an unconsciously alluring smile.

"Thank you for catching him," she said as she set the boy down and rushed over to give the unsuspecting king a hug that made the dwarf stiffen, which she took to mean he was injured, "Are you alright?" She looked him over with a concerned frown that only disappeared when she was satisfied that there were no lurking wounds. Thorin cleared his throat to center himself and nearly stumbled again when her clear eyes caught his.

"I am unhurt," he assured her, which earned another smile from the hobbit and another skipped beat of his heart, "Thorin at your service." The amount of trading between the two races made it doubtful that the hobbits hadn't heard that he was king, but it was better to keep his story nearer to the truth and let the hobbits assume that he simply shared his name with his king.

"Bilbo Baggins at yours," she replied with a proper curtsy for a simple meeting of equals as opposed to a subject to a king, something that Thorin found please him immensely, "and this is my son Ori. Say thank you Ori."

"Tank ou," Ori said around his thumb, and Thorin finally managed to look directly into the boy's eyes. As Dori had claimed, the boy had pure emerald eyes with lines of light purple running through like a vein of amethyst flowed though stone. There was no doubt that Ori was indeed the infant that had been thought dead for six years.

"I was my pleasure," Thorin told the little child with a bow, drawing a happy giggle as Thorin had hoped.

"You must come for breakfast," Bilbo nearly commanded, grabbing Thorin's arm and practically dragged him down the road.

"I couldn't impose," Throin tried to argue, but the thought of a home cooked meal certainly sounded blissful after a three and a half days of travel.

"You saved my son from a bump to the head at the very least," Bilbo insisted, still dragging an unresisting dwarf behind her, "A good breakfast is nothing compared to that, and I make plenty every morning anyway."

"If you insist then it would be rude of me to refuse," Thorin told her and was rewarded with a bright smile.

"Then I must insist," she said, and Thorin could do nothing but follow his One down the road.


	6. The Start of Hope

Bilbo had always strived to keep her son away from the dwarves who would visit The Shire in the hopes that it would keep the ones who wanted him dead away, but the dwarf that followed her was different. She couldn't explain it, but she felt safe around him and that alone made her a little worried. It didn't take long for the Purple Carpet Thyme covered roof of her sweet shop to come into view, looking more like a frosted cake than a shop and it was just how Bilbo preferred it.

"Baggins Sweet Shop," Thorin read the elegant script off the sign above the door as they approached and waited for Bilbo to unlock the door. Much to his obvious surprise, she simply pushed the unlocked door open and marched inside, "You do not lock your door?" Bilbo looked surprised at the question for a moment before her face cleared.

"The shops at the larger markets closer to Bree might," Bilbo told him, "But we don't have the same worries here in Hobbiton." Thorin wondered what it would be like to live in a place where the faith and trust in your neighbors would allow one to live without fear of theft or violence.

"Does everyone leave their doors open in such a way?"Thorin asked before he could think better of it. As a stranger to the residents of the land he had no right to assume that they would be willing to share secrets that could leave them vulnerable.

"Many hobbit families will use a bolt on the door to their homes," Bilbo told him, much to his surprise, "but it is more to prevent little ones from wandering after dark than anything else." Thorin took a moment to look around the small shop and was nearly overwhelmed by the feeling of home the permeated throughout the small building.

"This is lovely," Thorin told her as he took in the small tables surrounded by heavily cushioned chairs and delicate table cloths that he was a little afraid to touch.

"Thank you," Bilbo said as she carried the small boy behind the polished wooden counter and into a small side room Thorin couldn't see. He wondered for a moment if she was going to run through a side door, based on how nervous around dwarves Dori had reported her to be, but quickly dismissed the thought when she reappeared without her son a few minutes later, "How does fresh buttered bread, ham and eggs sound? Maybe with creamy rosemary potatoes?" To Thorin it sounded like heaven after three days of travel and the hard jerky that was common with packing lightly.

"That sounds wonderful," Thorin told her honestly, "If it's not too much trouble." Bilbo shook her head as she moved to the main kitchen, which Thorin was surprised he could see.

"Ori and I usually have breakfast here," Bilbo assured him, "so it's no hardship to make enough for three." The king under the mountain was flabbergasted by the shear waves of welcome that Bilbo had been sending at him from the beginning.

"Thank you," Thorin said and was rewarded with a brilliant smile for the hobbit woman.

Bilbo had taken a minute to try and calm herself down when she had settled a still slightly shaken Ori in his playroom. The boy had resisted letting go of her until she had managed to distract him with his favorite blanket and he'd promptly fallen back asleep. Bilbo wondered if her little boy was every going to manage to sleep through the night and stay awake through the day, though she had to admit that the frequent naps were helpful sometimes. Taking a deep breath she started gathering everything she needed to make the rescuing dwarf. She hadn't meant to tell the dwarf Ori's real name, but had found it nearly impossible to lie to him. Something that had sent a jolt of nerves racing through her and she'd reverted to her ingrained politeness to grasp at something safe. The near instinctive act of cooking calmed Bilbo down enough so she could examine what the feeling was that she got around the unfamiliar dwarf. It wasn't until she was loading up his plate that she realized she felt safe. Frowning, Bilbo paused at the realization and wondered why it was that she was so instantly trusting of the stranger. Bungo had always said that Bilbo had an innate intelligence about her that allowed her to know someone's true nature upon meeting them. It had helped in the past when strangers had approached the residents of the Shire, claiming they were interested in honest business, but were after something much more sinister. It was Bilbo that had warned the Thain to keep a close eye on the men and they had been caught stealing grain and gold. The few dwarves that had married into the hobbit families had chased the men out of the Shire, much to the amusement of their wives, and they hadn't been seen since. That sense that had been with Bilbo for as long as she could remember was telling her that the dwarf in her sitting area wouldn't hurt her. Shaking herself out of her musing, Bilbo carefully carried the high piled plate to where the dwarf was sitting patiently. Thorin's eyes went wide when he saw the amount of food on the plate, though it seemed like a pleasant surprise.

"I went off what my uncle Gearin usually eats," Bilbo told him as she bustled around the room gathering all the things she needed for Ori's breakfast, grinning at the appreciative groans coming from Thorin's table.

"An unusual hobbit name. Almost dwarvish," Thorin observed, "and the food is wonderful."

"That's because Uncle Gearin is a dwarf," Bilbo called as she poked her head through the pass through, temporarily stunning the dwarf king, "And I'm glad you like it."

Once the oatmeal had finished thickening, Bilbo added the handfuls of the fruit that she dried specifically for that purpose. She ladled her son's usual serving into a bowl and set it aside to cool while she woke Ori up. The boy grumbled as his mother shook him awake, but he held his arms up sleepily so she could haul him into her arms. Bilbo carried the sleepy boy over to Thorin's table and plopped him down into the highchair her father made. Thorin didn't seem to mind that Bilbo had left the toddler with him when she went to get the now cooled oatmeal and her own breakfast, in fact his eyes sparkled when the boy poke to him quietly and handed his a piece of bread to munch on. Bilbo rolled her eyes at the butter smeared, but smiling, face of her son when she brought his breakfast out and paused to wipe the greasy mess off before starting to feed him.

"What brings you to the Shire Thorin?" Bilbo asked as she seamlessly watched ate her own breakfast and kept Ori from smearing oatmeal into his light red hair without looking. Thorin raised an eye at the ability and Bilbo shrugged, "Mother magic." Thorin laughed at the unexpected response that reminded him very much of his sister.

"I hold a great deal of responsibility within my family," Thorin told her as he speared another perfectly cooked potato, "They decided it was long past time for me to be temporarily relieved of that burden, despite my reluctance."

"They threw you out didn't they," Bilbo said with a slight smirk that turned into an outright giggle when the dwarf leveled a playful glare at her.

"With barely anytime to pack," Thorin muttered finally poking at his eggs with a frown. The frown apparently didn't sit well with the toddler at the table, because he took the opportunity to fling a spoonful of very sticky oatmeal at Thorin. Both adults jumped as the gooey glob made contact with the skin just a bit above the color of his shirt, splattering into his beard and hair.

"Ori!" Bilbo scolded the giggling toddler as Thorin peeled off his fur lined leather cloak and metal plated jerkin to protect them from the dripping mess. Bilbo scrambled to wet a napkin to help the taller being get cleaned up and unthinkingly started wiping down his neck, "I'm so sorry." Thorin wanted to say something clever or suave to impress his one, but all he could focus on was the fact that her hands were only separated from his skin by a single layer. When Bilbo moved onto cleaning his beard, though he was sure she didn't understand the significance of such a gesture, he nearly choked on his own tongue. Carefully, so he didn't simply pull her into his arms, he reached up and covered her hand with his own.

"I believe he's about to make a mess," Thorin was incredibly pleased that he managed to keep his voice even and smiled as Bilbo whipped her head around to see Ori smash a second spoonful of oatmeal into his already coated hair. As Thorin watched as Bilbo fretted over her son and made the boy giggle he knew that there was nothing he wouldn't do to protect his new family, even if they didn't realize it yet.


End file.
